Heart to Heart
by Sue Pokorny
Summary: Short tag to episode 5.14, My Bloody Valentine. There were only two men Dean had ever let tell him what to do, maybe they were the help he needed. Just a sliver of hope on the bleak horizon.


_Just a short tag to 5.14. Man can these guys tug the heartstrings or what? I think I'm getting soft.... awkward._

**Heart to Heart**

"_Dean."_

_The familiar voice tugged at his heart, his chest tightening as he turned toward the sound._

"_Dad?"_

_John Winchester's mouth turned up in a slow smile, his eyes squinting as he gazed across the darkened lot at his son._

"_Hey, kiddo."_

_Dean swallowed hard, his own eyes glued to the familiar brown ones before him. His mind distantly noticed that his father didn't seem to be affected by the misty rain that had begun to fall since he'd wandered out into Bobby's yard to 'get some air', a stray tear trickling down his cheek as he realized his father was nothing more than a figment of his imagination._

"_I'm dreaming," he stated, already knowing the answer. _

"_Yeah," came the slow drawl. "Afraid so."_

_Dean nodded and dropped his eyes to the muddy ground. He let lose a soft chuckle, absently wiping the back of a hand across his face. Despite the fact that the man before him was entirely in his head, he found himself comforted by his father's presence, John Winchester had always been the one person who could make Dean feel safe. No matter what kind of danger, no matter what kind of crap he found himself in, his Dad's stubbornness, the man's unrelenting strength had always been the foundation of his own. Even if this was a dream, something his damaged psyche had conjured up to make him feel better, Dean couldn't help but feel a bit of that strength seep back into him. It was damn good to see his dad,_

"_Everything is so screwed up, Dad."_

_John took a step closer, tucking both hands into the pockets of his jeans in a gesture so familiar it started Dean's heart aching all over again._

"_I know it seems that way, son. But…" he rounded his shoulders and looked down at his boots as Dean held his breath._

"_But what?"_

_John finally lifted his head, his dark eyes meeting his son's as he tilted his head and grinned. "You're not dead, Dean. You're strong enough to handle this. I know you are. I believe in you."_

Dean's eyes snapped open, his lips turning down into a frown as he came to the realization that he was no longer in the yard. He tried to move, grunting in frustration as he noticed his arms were trapped. Blinking rapidly, he looked down. The old patchwork quilt wrapped around him was familiar and he raised his head, his vision darting around the instantly recognizable sight of Bobby's living room.

The movement touched off a pounding inside his skull and he winced, finally pulling a hand from beneath the blanket and raising it to tentatively touch the scabbed over cut on his left temple.

"Here."

He jumped at the voice, groaning out loud as his headache edged up a notch. Squinting into the dim light of a low-watt lamp, he sighed, relaxing at the sight of his old friend. Bobby had rolled his wheelchair to within a few inches of the sofa Dean currently occupied, his arm outstretched offering a glass of water and bottle of Tylenol.

Dean cleared his throat and pushed himself up from the couch before reaching for the glass and medicine. "Thanks," he huffed out in a low, scratchy voice. He never did converse well right after waking – especially when his head felt like it was about to burst from the inside out.

Bobby nodded once before rolling his chair a few feet back. "Figured like you'd need 'em." He waited while Dean shook a few pills from the open bottle and tossed them into his mouth, chasing them with the water. "How's the head?"

"I've had worse." Dean leaned back against the back of the sofa and closed his eyes. "I think." He rubbed at the scab, the vision of his dad fading from his memory like a time-worn photograph. He got that his dad had never actually been here, but he couldn't help the sliver of hope that maybe, possibly, someone had finally heard him.

"That bad, huh?"

Dean managed a small smile for his friend. "Nah, I'm okay, Bobby." He rolled his head against the cushion, his eyes meeting the older man's. "How's Sammy?"

"He's still out," Bobby answered, dropping his gaze to his lap. "Your angel buddy is down there keeping an eye on him. He'll let us know when he wakes up."

Dean nodded and rolled his head back so that he was looking up onto Bobby's ceiling. "Good."

It had been three long days they had kept Sam locked up inside the panic room. Three days of listening to his brother scream, cry, beg until he couldn't take it anymore. Dean wasn't sure how much more he could endure. He wanted to believe he had a choice in all this – that he and Sam could find a way to avoid their so-called destiny. He'd even gone so far as to beg for help from a God he wasn't even sure existed.

But how do you keep fighting when you're not even sure what you're fighting for? It seemed like that was all he'd ever done. Fight. For his dad, for his mom, for Sam… for hundreds of nameless, faceless people who didn't give a crap about him or how much he'd sacrificed. And now, he had to fight destiny, too?

Michael's words still haunted him_. Free will is an illusion, Dean. Every choice you make only takes you one step closer to your destiny._

Could that be true? Could everything he'd done, every choice he'd made been no choice at all? He sacrificed his life, his family and for what? To end up a pawn in some cosmic chess game no matter what?

And, whether it was true or not, what exactly did he have left to fight for anyway? His brother was a mess, connected to evil in a way he couldn't even begin to understand. His parents were still dead, apparently manipulated to bring two sons into the world to fulfill some crappy prophecy. John Winchester had spent his life avenging his wife's death, sacrificing not only his own life but the lives of his children because it was supposed to happen that way? Dean was having a hard time believing it, even though it seemed like every other creature, demon and angel, accepted it as fact.

Everyone believed they would say yes. Everyone told them they had no choice. Then why play this sick game at all? Why the need for them to give their permission? If the end was pre-ordained, what the hell say did they actually have? What did all the shit they'd endured their entire lives have to do with any of it?

"Dean?"

He blinked, surprised to find Bobby's hand gripping his arm, the older hunter leaning forward in his chair, hovering uneasily over him.

"You checked out on me for a second there, kid."

Dean swallowed hard, pushing himself up to a seated position as Bobby back up and gave him some space.

"Sorry," he mumbled, not able to meet his friend's questioning gaze.

"You sure you're okay?" the older man pressed. "You don't look so good."

Dean snorted a laugh through his nose, one side of his mouth turned up in a sardonic grin. "Been one of those weeks."

"Yeah," Bobby rested his elbows against the arms of the chair and fixed Dean with a pointed look. "You want to talk about it?"

Dean pursed his lips and shook his head slightly. "I'm not exactly in a sharing caring mood right now."

"You're not dead, Dean."

The younger man raised his brows, returning the veteran hunter's gaze, the echo of his father's words tightening his chest. "Come again?"

"I know what that son-of-a-bitch horseman said to you, son." Bobby's voice softened. "I know why he believed his mojo didn't work on you."

Dean let a well-worn mask of indifference fall over his features. "Cas has a big mouth."

"He doesn't have the good sense to lie about stuff, no." Bobby shrugged in agreement. "Makes him an easy mark."

"Well, it doesn't matter what he told you because it was all crap anyway." Dean raised a hand in sublimation. "The creepy old dude was just trying to get inside my head."

"Did he?"

"What?"

"Get inside your head?"

Dean dropped his eyes, the overwhelming silence inside the house closing in on him.

"Kid, I've known a lot of hunters, a lot of people – good and bad – and there is one thing I know for sure." Bobby ducked his head, catching Dean's eyes, forcing the younger man to meet his gaze. "Of all the souls I've met in this world, you are, by far, the strongest, most honorable man I've ever known.." He dipped his head to the side and grinned. "Present company excluded of course." He waited until he got a ghost of an answering grin before leaning slightly forward to mark the importance of his words. "I believe in you, Dean. Your brother believes in you, your dad did, hell, you've even got an angel on your damn shoulder. You'll find a way, kid. It ain't over yet."

"I don't know anymore, Bobby. I just… I don't think I can do this alone."

Bobby leaned back, a satisfied smile on is face. "That's the beauty of it, son. You don't have to."

The End


End file.
